Essays
by lazer-angel
Summary: Essays. I've always loved them. That is, until someone started messing with my essays...
1. First, Second, Third, and Fourth Year

A/N: Story is canon up to seventh year. Hermione did not see Sirius die. She was unconscious at the time.

This story is the re-write of the one I wrote waaaay back when. Rated T for mild language, I suppose, in later chapters? I broke it into three chapters this time because the whole story took up 27 pages on Word.

Disclaimer: Only the plot is mine, characters belong to J.K. Rowling

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Essays

Essays. I absolutely _loved_ them. I _always_ got an 'Outstanding' on them, and (with the exception of Professor Snape, who hated me almost as much as Crookshanks hates Ron) my teachers were always proud of my excellent research and extreme dedication. But as the years went on, I began to view them with a distinct distaste. Why? One particular haughty, self-absorbed, ferrety prat who donned a certain sneer that seemed firmly imprinted upon his face. It started, in fact, in my first year…

xXx

He strutted around as if a large stick had been stuffed up his arse; his facial expressions relayed the same story. Glaring at passers-by who he deemed unworthy to set foot within a three-foot radius of his person, he had an air of arrogance that I thought was too presumptuous. Naturally, I held a slight aversion to him.

A few days into the school year, I was in the library, seated in a desolate corner and working on an essay titled "Wizards, Witches, and Muggles." I heard someone sit down next to me, but I didn't bother to look up. After all, the most amazing anti-thesis had come to mind, and I—

"Hello."

—had just lost it.

Irritably, I glanced over, quill poised over my parchment in case the idea decided to happen back into my head. "May I help you?"

"Hermione, isn't it?"

I returned flatly, "Impressive. You know my name. Planning to tell me the colour of my eyes next?"

Ignoring my cross use of sarcasm, he glanced over at my paper. "What are you working on?"

"None of your business." Ah, wait! It was coming back. I began scribbling words down before they decided to flee my mind once more.

_Thaddeus Thurkell was famous for producing seven Squib sons and turning them all into—_

Suddenly, I frowned and paused, putting down my quill and rummaging through my bag until I found my bright blue eraser. I then proceeded to remove a good portion of my sentence, after which, I picked up the parchment and blew away the wisps of remaining eraser shavings.

"Homework? Hermione, that paper isn't due for another two weeks! We were just assigned it yesterday."

Picking up the blue eraser I had put down, I began to scrub at my parchment with a renewed vigor. "I hardly believe in procrastination. Panic attacks the night before do not turn out quality essays."

"Come on." I nearly jumped. Perhaps I had given so much attention to my erasing that I hadn't seen him move, but now, he was right by my ear, his hands resting on my shoulders. Now _that_ was a big no-no. "Live a little. Be a little dangerous and put it off until tomorrow." I heard the subtle mocking underneath, and it only served to increase my desire to kick him where he deserved it.

So I did. Or at least, I tried to, but when I stood up, my head came into straight contact with his nose. He let out a brilliant squeal, rivaling Lavender Brown's shrill giggles. "Sod off and find another brainless bimbo who might actually fall for your obnoxious attempts of cajolery."

He frowned at me while holding his nose. "Fine. I'll fid dum oder cudie to go ow wid." Giving a dramatic huff, he spun on his heel (didn't stop in time and so had to catch himself before he went toppling to the ground) and marched out of the library. This ruckus instigated a lecture about respect in the library from Madam Pince.

I smiled. I was already taking a liking towards that batty, old librarian.

Sitting back down, I took one look at my parchment and resisted the urge to rip it into shreds. There, despite my efforts to erase it for the past few minutes or so, sat the words in my own handwriting:

_Thaddeus Thurkell was famous for producing seven Squib sons and turning them all into __**that blond hottie sitting next to me**_.

I glared at the paper, willing for the words to disappear. They didn't. Groaning, I took out another piece of parchment and began re-writing my essay.

Outside the library, the blond boy twirled his wand between the fingers of his free hand and gave a self-satisfied smirk. It was a good thing he had learned that spell.

xXx

The next year, there were no more flirtatious advances from him. There shouldn't have been, seeing as I was best friends with the two people he hated most in school. It also didn't help that I was a _Mudblood_. I would've wrung his neck for all those incidents he used that vile word, but it seemed that I had no time set aside for it. The Chamber of Secrets was priority for everyone that year.

However, there _was_ one time where we crossed paths in the library again.

I was back in my usual corner, this time detailing the utilization and effects of dragon's blood, aptly naming the essay, "The Twelve Uses of Dragon's Blood." I was never one for creative titles, as long as the job was done.

_Dragon's blood has many essential uses that can more than likely be credited to its purity, which—_

"Hello, Mudblood."

Again, with the timing. If I hadn't so busy jotting down notes about its properties, I would have stood up and slapped him silly, or something to that extent.

"You _do_ realize it's only polite to respond when addressed, don't you? Oh wait, I forgot! Mudbloods have no sense of propriety or decency, else they walk around apologizing to everyone else for their existence."

I clenched my teeth and told myself not to give in to my bubbling anger, which was currently urging me to knee him so violently that he would never be able to have children. Instead, I opted for reaching into my bag and getting out my bright blue eraser after which I then rubbed viciously at my parchment.

"Come now, don't leave your frustrations bottled up. It's unhealthy you know, and if you explode into pieces from that, that would certainly be a shame. After all, your tainted blood would stain my robes," he goaded.

I continued rubbing, if possible, harder.

"Muddy-muddy-bloody-blood," he sang.

I paused to stare at him. Did he really just…?

He scoffed and lifted his chin, giving me a lovely sneer. "I don't care how immature you think I am. I can do whatever the hell I want, thanks."

Whatever. The little roach could go and get his head guillotined for all I cared, as long as he left me alone to my essay in peace. Unfortunately, some higher being must have thought it would be fun to torture me some more.

I returned to my essay for a total of five seconds before I felt something prod at my hair. Giving an exasperated sigh, I finally turned to him and snapped, "_What?_"

He had on his face a queer look, as if caught in between being disgusted and fascinated. "Do all Mudbloods have hair like this? I don't think I've ever seen hair more atrocious."

"No," I replied curtly, "they don't. And I'd sorely appreciate it if you leave me the bloody hell alone."

His lips quirked up amusedly. "Dirty words from a dirty mouth; how predictable."

I glared at him for a full eight seconds and went back to my essay, reprimanding the beast inside of me that was insisting that I launch myself at the infuriating prat and attack him with great fervor. I did, however, clutch my eraser and pretended that the words on my paper were representative of his face.

Just as I was about to rip a hole in the parchment with my eraser, he gave a loud yawn. "You bore me, Mudblood. I sure hope we don't run into each other anytime soon. Wouldn't want any muddy bloody germs, you see." Clearly thinking that he was a natural comedian of some sort, he laughed and stalked back out the library, interrupted in his maniacal laughter only when Madam Pince cut him off with an angry glare and a few well-chosen words that left him sulking.

My heart swelled with gratitude for the old lady until she looked at me and gave me a look that plainly snapped, "You mind your own business now, girl."

I stared down and grimaced at my paper, which read: _Dragon's blood has many essential uses that can more than likely be credited to its purity, which __**is purer than Mudblood Granger's blood, but is akin to dirt when compared to the likes of the Malfoy blood**_.

I narrowed my eyes at the words through the mass of blue eraser shavings and gave myself a good whack on the head with a nearby book. What. The. Hell.

Outside the library doors, a smug Draco Malfoy pocketed his wand. Oh, how he loved that spell.

xXx

When I was younger, my mother had told me the same thing every mother told her child: violence is not the answer. Hence, I decided not to enlighten her about the incident during my third year. In my defense, he had been asking for it. Three years of pent-up frustration had to go somewhere, and it just happened to come out in the form of a well-deserved slap.

Then again, perhaps my mother was right with her other old adage: what goes around comes around. Later that day, Harry and I were caught in a whirlwind of danger…_again_. Honestly, doesn't that boy ever know when to take a break? But that diverts me from my _other_ event that year.

It was a few days after Harry and I had gone back in time to fix everything. I was back in the library; only, it was completely desolate at that time, for exams were over. That's why when _he_ came over to sit down, I was momentarily surprised.

"Malfoy."

"Mudblood."

"Piss off."

He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, unfazed and not at all acquiescent to my demand. "You know, that's the first time you've addressed me in our meetings."

"They're not meetings, Malfoy. They're twisted encounters in which I kindly ask you to back off, and you rudely ignore my appeals."

He scoffed. "I hardly believe that 'piss off' is a kind request."

"Yes, well, you've been grating on my nerves lately, haven't you?" I saw him unconsciously brush the cheek I had so fiercely struck previously. The mere memory brought a smile to my lips, and I went back to working on my essay.

_One interesting magical device that could be utilized efficiently to the advantage of wizards and for the safety of Muggles is the Muggle Guard. When touched by a non-magical person, it will—_

He scowled and glanced over to the parchment. "What are you even doing up working on an essay for? You know just as well as I do that exams finished four days ago."

I didn't look up. "I don't see how it's any of your business."

"I _make_ things my business."

I gave an incensed sigh. "If I tell you, will you go away?"

He turned his attention to his immaculate cuticles. "Perchance."

"There's an internship that I'm applying to this summer, and the application's due in a week. I need to finish and revise this essay by then."

"On?" he prodded.

"The Muggle Guard. It's something I'm proposing to be built for the safety of the Muggles in case they ever come across a magical item."

"How dull."

I frowned. "And this is why I don't engage in conversation with you." Accompanying this statement was the removal of my bright blue eraser from my bag, an action that had a sudden familiarity to it whenever he was around.

"Well, it just seems so…boring. Quaint little items like that are sold in stores everywhere. Why don't you invent something interesting? Say, a cure for Lycanthropy? I'm sure Professor Lupin would like a dose of that."

He was mocking me again, if his shark-like grin was anything to go by.

"Oh? And if I do something good for the world, you should too. Say, drop off the face of the Earth?"

"Just as soon as you do humanity a favor and—"

"Kill off the rest of my Mudblood species," I interrupted acerbically. "The joke's getting a bit old, Malfoy."

"I was going to say get rid of that mop atop your head." His grin turned into an amused chuckle. "But if even _you_ think your kind should be wiped clean, by all means, go ahead."

"I hate you."

He raised an eyebrow. "I'm disinclined to agree."

"Really, now." My eraser paused in its vigorous scrubbing. "Name one thing that you've done to me that I shouldn't hate you for."

He pondered this for quite awhile, and I took this opportunity to return to my parchment, which did not seem to be cooperating with my eraser.

"We'll see," he announced.

He had been silent for so long that when he had reaffirmed his presence, I almost re-enacted the scene from our first year where I had jumped up and quite cleanly given his nose a nasty bruise. "Sorry?"

"We'll see," he repeated. "I'll do something nice one of these days."

I gave him a stare reminiscent of the one I sent him second year after he had created an impromptu song from his nickname for me. It was meant to send a message that I thought his sanity was a bit dubious.

"I'm not crazy." Could that kid read minds or something?

I asked him so.

He gave me a look that said he doubted _my_ sanity. "I'm not psychic, Granger. But I _am_ tired." He rubbed his cheek again. "My jaw still gets sore at times from that, Mudblood. Don't do it again soon." Getting up, he sauntered away.

I felt a twinge of disappointment. Madam Pince had not appeared to chastise him. When I turned my attention to my essay, I threw down my eraser and buried my face in my hands, letting out an exasperated, shrill growl.

_One interesting magical device that could be utilized efficiently to the advantage of wizards and for the safety of Muggles is the Muggle Guard. When touched by a non-magical person, it will __**turn and let loose all of its frustrations upon the nearest innocent civilian, for example, Draco Malfoy, who will be subject to be victimized cruelly.**_

I sighed and proceeded to call Malfoy a self-righteous, infuriating, interfering arse. To no one, of course.

Closing the library doors behind him, he paused as he heard a sharp oath. Oh yes, he _definitely_ loved that spell.

xXx

There's that one moment in every girl's life that she dreams of: the moment when everyone's gazes descend on her, jaws drop open, eyes widen, collective gasps arise, and she realizes that she is, hypothetically, royalty in the room. I had my moment that year.

The Yule Ball was a fantastic experience for me, though I never would have ever imagined just _how_ fantastic it would be. Viktor was ever the gentleman, and it was an added bonus that he was graceful and light on his feet from all that Quidditch training. It was also nice to see looks filled with envy as opposed to ones filled with disdain. Hell, I even caught Zabini's appreciative gaze. Needless to say, an auspicious look from a Slytherin certainly upped my confidence.

What happened with Ron was not completely his fault. I was setting him up for it by going to the ball with Viktor, and I knew it. A part of me had half-hoped that he would confront me with his jealousy while the other half primly remarked that that would evolve into a scene I wouldn't want. Turns out, the latter half was right.

Completely overrun with resentment and envy, he acted utterly irrationally. The prat didn't know what he wanted, and he sure as hell wasn't going to admit it. Suffice to say, Harry picked Ron over me, as Ron was the closer, male best friend, and I was left pathetically sniveling on the stairs, alone. After awhile, I realized how ridiculous I must've looked. So, heaving a dramatic sigh, I pulled myself up and moped as I ambled back to my dorm. In all my misery, I failed to notice a glint of silver in the darkness.

Following some more brooding and some choice words about the red-haired idiot, I tried to fall asleep but found myself staring up at my canopy for what seemed like hours. Giving into my insomnia, I decided to sneak into the library to finish up an essay.

_A dear friend to Helga Hufflepuff and one of the four founders of Hogwarts, Rowena Ravenclaw is one of the most famous witches known to wizardkind. She is to have stated once _'we will teach those whose intelligence is surest', _which explains why the smartest and cleverest wizards and witches are sorted into Ravenclaw. One particular witch, one of fame and vast intelligence, who should have been placed into Ravenclaw, but sorted accidentally into another house, was—_

All of a sudden, I paused and then wrinkled my nose in distaste. The scent of _his_ cologne had become so familiar that I caught a whiff of his fragrance before he even came into sight. Sweet Merlin, here we go again.

"Granger."

"Ferret."

I knew if I turned around, I'd be facing a scowl.

"You're a regular comedian."

"Thanks, I try."

He sat down beside me in his usual spot.

"Love letter to Krum?"

His question was met with silence.

"Weasley?"

Again, I ignored him.

_One particular witch, one of fame and vast intelligence, who should have been placed into Ravenclaw, but sorted accidentally into another house, was—_

"Potter?"

_Was…_

"Oh no, don't tell me it's _me_."

I closed my eyes and counted to ten slowly. Twice.

"Malfoy, I can safely assure you that if I was writing anything, you would hardly be a topic of interest, unless the essay was about pale, atrociously blond gits who bother intelligent brunettes at inopportune moments."

He raised an eyebrow. "Intelligent brunette? Getting a big head, aren't we?"

I scoffed. "I wouldn't have room for one, seeing as your own ego occupies all remaining airspace."

"Your cruel words wound me, Granger."

"What, no 'Mudblood'? What happened to my official nickname?"

He shrugged. "I figured now that you can't hate me, I shouldn't give you a reason to hate me."

I stared at him a stare that told him that I was, once again, assured me of his insanity.

He flashed me a brilliant smile, and I became instantly wary. "What?"

"I shrunk your teeth."

"I _beg_ your pardon?"

"Remember the hex that hit your teeth?"

It was my turn to scowl. "Vaguely."

"See? And now your teeth look infinitely better than those beaver fangs you used to have!"

I tried to figure out if I should be flattered or insulted. Probably the latter, as he was generous in handing those out to me.

"You did absolutely nothing, Malfoy. Madam Pomfrey fixed my teeth. You merely exacerbated the problem."

"Ah, but without my help, you wouldn't have looked as magnificent as you did tonight, would you?" Before I could point out that he had just paid me a compliment, he added, "That is, before you started moping around like a lost puppy dog without its paws on Weasel."

I pressed my lips together in a thin line but didn't reprimand Malfoy for calling Ron names.

"Come on, Granger," he mocked. "Tell me about how you were in love with the red-headed brat and how you took Krum to the ball to make him jealous."

At my slightly shocked look, he gave a derisive snort. It suited his pig-like personality. "You'd like to think you're mysterious, don't you, Granger? Hate to break it do you, darling, but I can read you like those books you adore. You're not that hard to figure out, or to provoke, for that matter. My advice?"

He leaned forward, and I sat back, folding my arms across my chest. "If you've got nothing nice to say, keep it to yourself," I replied crossly.

Ignoring my statement, he continued, "Drop him. There are a million other guys who'd give an arm and a leg for a date with you. When Krum asked you to the ball, he asked you for a reason." He paused and his aristocratic features twisted into a look of disdain. "Though I can't even begin to fathom why."

Did he really have to be such a snobby bastard? He couldn't say anything without paying me an insult. I voiced my thoughts to him angrily.

Completely unfazed, he leaned back in his chair. "It seems Weasel and Potter's pet has a temper."

That self-righteous, cocky, narcissistic, _unbelievably arrogant_—

I raised my hand as a repeat of last year's event, but he caught my hand before it came in contact with his cheek.

Leaning in close with a lazy smirk, he remarked, "I don't think so, Granger." His almost inaudible statement barely reached my ears, and a long silence stretched after his words.

We sat, staring at each other; me, resentful, and he…with a look that I couldn't decipher. Not only was the quiet making my uncomfortable, but also, I was suddenly far too concerned with the realization of our proximity. His hand still clutched mine, and it hovered awkwardly next to our faces. Still, the warmth of his skin pressing next to mine made me very aware of the sudden heat. All I knew was that there wasn't enough air in this room, and the air regulation spell had somehow become defunct, shooting up the temperature.

I pulled back abruptly, breaking whatever it was we had had.

"I think we've both had enough for the night, don't you think?" To my surprise, there was a tone of defeat in my own voice. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him stare at me for about a half a minute before he stood up.

"Get to sleep soon, Granger." As he walked away, he added, "That's quite an interesting essay you've got there."

I looked down at my parchment.

_A dear friend to Helga Hufflepuff and one of the four founders of Hogwarts, Rowena Ravenclaw is one of the most famous witches known to wizardkind. She is to have stated once _'we will teach those whose intelligence is surest', _which explains why the smartest and cleverest wizards and witches are sorted into Ravenclaw. One particular witch, one of fame and vast intelligence, who should have been placed into Ravenclaw, but sorted accidentally into another house, was __**Hermione Something-or-Other Granger, a surprisingly bright witch whose intellect is only surpassed by Draco Malfoy's, because, of course, Draco Malfoy excels at everything. If she was slightly more attractive, more devious, and did not lug around two baboons as friends, she would have most certainly been placed in the all-mighty Slytherin house, but unfortunately, Muggleborns are not allowed in Slytherin, so Ravenclaw would have been the next best choice.**_

This time, I let a small smile slip onto my lips.

If a lone student had happened to pass by the library doors, he would have keeled over in disbelief, as the smartly dressed blond standing outside the doors had a genuine smile gracing his features.

xXx

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And that's Part One, summarizing the First through Fourth Years.

Read&&Review!

_**lazer-angel**_


	2. Fifth and Sixth Year

Disclaimer: I only own the plot, characters belong to J.K. Rowling

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Essays (Part Two)

xXx

Grandmother Rose is the sweetest woman I've ever known in my whole life, though not the most eye-catching. She's actually quite short and slightly frumpy. Her dull brown hair, speckled with grey, told me that she was of elder age, but her bubbly personality insisted she was of another. When I first saw Professor Umbridge, I wanted shout out, "Grandmother!" Good thing I didn't, else I be placed in one of those horrendous detentions of hers.

I learned quickly that she was nothing at all like Grandmother Rose. The unpleasant woman also had a certain prejudice against me. It wasn't at all calming to the mind to have a Ministry official, a few professors, and the Slytherin House plotting my demise.

Another proverbial, yet somehow, seemingly literal thorn in my side, was the Inquisitorial Squad. They took an especially unnatural, sadistic glee in tormenting the students, but essentially me, Harry, and Ron. Not ones to sit back and be tortured like little ragdolls, we came up with the concept for Dumbledore's Army and put it into action, frustrating those against us, to _our_ sadistic glee.

It was strange though, to see Malfoy so pitted against us. I had long since discovered that outside our annual library meetings, he was a completely different person. Each time we had those strange meetings, he seemed almost friendly. However, when we weren't in our alternated atmosphere, Malfoy treated me with a mere, cold indifference, though he always seemed to soften a bit immediately following each rendezvous.

Whatever. Malfoy was nothing other than another episode that we would live through in our lives. I never would've imagined how important he would become to us later.

At the time, however, Malfoy largely ignored me. Throughout the entire year, I clutched onto my metaphorical shield, ready for any malicious attacks, but I received none too badly; it almost surprised me. Each time I walked into the library, I braced myself for the usual blond head that popped out from behind bookshelves, come to torment me; my preparations were for nothing.

There was only one time that I faced confrontation with him in the library, and even then, the missiles we sent at each other had little impact.

It was a few days after Fred and George had put on their last-day-of-school celebration show. The professors (specifically only Umbridge and Filch) were still hell-bent on figuring out how to get rid of the Portable Swamp Fred and George had merrily deposited in the corridor of the fifth floor, and the school was in chaos. Kids everywhere had taken Fred and George's initiative, and now, students were intent on making life a living nightmare for the Headmistress. I decided to take a trip to the library to study without all the noise and commotion, for all people did in the Gryffindor common room nowadays was babble on and on about the Weasley twins' great escape.

I had just touched the tip of my quill to the parchment when I heard the familiar snide drawl I'd been hearing for the past five years of my life.

"Mudblood."

"Ferret."

"Creative."

"Same to you."

He gave a slight scoff. "Why is it that I always find you in the library? Don't you ever think of other places to go, people to see?"

"As much as I've love to be off breaking the rules just for you to take off another fifty points from Gryffindor, I have better things to do."

"Do you, really?"

"What do you want, Malfoy? To take off more points because I'm a Mudblood?"

"That's actually an excellent idea. Ten points from Gryffindor, for being an incorrigible know-it-all and being of bad blood."

I glowered at him. Maybe the brat _wasn't_ going to be nicer to me like he usually was.

"Fuck you."

He quirked an eyebrow and the corner of his mouth followed the same suit. That bastard. If it hadn't gone against his pristine ideals to be calm and composed at all times, he probably would've been jumping around and clapping his hands cheerfully for being able to elicit a crude, uncouth response from me, something I rarely let happen except when my temper was unusually volatile. This disposition seemed to happen often around him.

"I never thought you'd be one with a particularly dirty mouth, Granger."

"Go find someone else to bother; I'm in no mood for this."

"Oh, but the others aren't as fun to provoke as you."

I wanted to stand up and deck him; anything to wipe that smug little grin off of his face. "Why don't you just go find one of those girls who always flock to you?"

His grin turned into a haughty smirk. "You mean those Slytherins who bend to my every whim and will? Those only come at night." He gave me a suggestive wink. "Would you like a try?"

I told myself that he would dock at least a hundred points if I hexed his nose off. "Thanks, but I'd rather not be a Slutherin."

He gave a scornful snort. "Clever."

I chose this opportunity to return to my essay.

_The Colour Change charm (of which the incantation is _'convocumbra'_ followed by the name of the colour the object is intended to be changed into in Latin terms) is known for its comical uses, such as—_

I stopped and glanced up to see his grey eyes watching me attentively.

It was creepy.

"Do I happen to have an ink stain on face, or have you suddenly gone blind and not noticed you're staring at a Mudblood?"

"If you didn't frown so much all the time, you could be relatively attractive, Granger."

I wisely chose not respond, as I had no idea what to respond _with_.

"First compliment you've been given? Not too surprising."

"At least I don't give myself compliments all the time; better yet, I don't charm my mirror into giving me compliments."

He ignored my scathing remark. "It must be a natural beauty, seeing as you don't spend time with all that paint those girls glob on their faces. What _do_ you do in your spare time, Granger?"

"Read. Write. Imagine different scenarios in which I could lure you to the lake and have the giant squid drag you to the depths."

He gave me a wide smile that reminded me of the Cheshire Cat's. It wasn't comforting in the least. "Really? I would've thought you were arranging the deaths of Umbridge and Filch."

I paused before answering. There was something suspicious about the tone he was using. "Perhaps."

Leaning forward, he cupped his chin and tapped a finger against his lips. "You know, I'm getting sick of Umbridge myself. She's always bossing us around. And she refused to give us a raise for our duties in the Inquisitorial Squad." At this he wrinkled his noise and scowled.

"You already have enough money as it is, Malfoy. Don't be a greedy, needy prat."

"It doesn't matter anymore. That woman is irking me, and I'm starting to get this sense of detestation towards her."

"Join the club." I turned back to my paper, but not before I caught a strange look in his eyes.

"If only I could," he remarked nonchalantly.

My quill froze before touching the paper once more. Did he…? Was he…?

Oh, that _bastard_. That sneaky, manipulative, sycophantic, no good, two-faced, scheming, ferret-faced _bastard_. He was trying to trick me (albeit in an unsubtle and not very skillfully way) into giving away information about Dumbledore's Army. Well, I'd give him information, all right.

"Well, it's too bad there isn't any, though I'd gladly make one," I said carefully. "No, I'm a bit too preoccupied with something else than plotting Umbridge's demise."

"Don't tell me you're on some secret spy mission, Granger."

I gave him a saccharine smile. "Of course not. Spy missions require overseas travel. My traveling only consists of walking back and forth from the castle to the Forbidden Forest." For show, I gasped and clapped my hand over my mouth dramatically. "Oh no. You're not allowed to tell anyone that, Malfoy."

He leaned back in his chair and gave me a satisfied smirk. "Oh, but, Granger, if it's illegal contact between you and Dumbledore, I'm afraid I'm going to have to report you to the Ministry."

I reached to grasp his hand, but changed my mind as he would probably shake me and my Mudblood germs off. Instead, I clasped my hands together and looked at him pleadingly. "Malfoy, I'm not contacting Dumbledore. I'm only building a secret weapon for him in the depths of the Forbidden Forest that I'm going to use against the Ministry."

His excitement was hardly contained. That is, until the recognition of my sarcasm hit him.

His triumphant smirk was interchanged with a contemptuous look. "You must think you're hilarious, Granger," he said scornfully.

"I sure like to." With that, I returned my attention to my essay. Educing a long sigh, I rummaged through my bag and dragged out my worn blue eraser. It was no longer as bright as it used to be and looked just as defeated as I did.

"I'll have you know that I'm going to find you and your little group, and when I do, it's not going to be pretty."

I gave him a leveling gaze. "I hardly believe that's going to happen anytime soon."

How wrong I was.

However, neither of us knew that at the time, so Malfoy only stood up, rolled his eyes at me, and sniffed superciliously. He then proceeded to turn on his heel, his cape flaring out for dramatic effect behind him. This succeeded in knocking over a cart of books, and right on cue, Madam Pince materialized, armed with stern looks and scolding words.

My mouth twitched into a slight smile, and I silently thanked her for being here, unlike the past two years. This time, my grin widened when my gaze descended onto my parchment, and I only gave a few half-hearted strokes of the eraser against the parchment.

_The Colour Change charm (of which the incantation is _'convocumbra'_ followed by the name of the colour the object is intended to be changed into in Latin terms) is known for its comical uses, such as__** altering the stylistic tresses of a grumpy, old nasty hag, namely Umbridge.**_

As he closed the doors behind him, the blond fervently hoped that the brunette within the confines of the library would take his advice on how to deal with Headmistress Umbridge, for he had not been lying when he had said he was getting annoyed with old woman.

A few days later, a shriek was heard echoing through the distant halls of Hogwarts. Students congregated outside, looking for the source of distress. Giggles and murmurs erupted throughout the crowd as a furious Headmistress stalked down the hall, her hair a mixture of shockingly bright pink and vivid lime green. It was rumored that Colin Creevey made a fortune out of selling his photos of Umbridge.

xXx

The next year…

Merlin, I can barely speak about the next year without either pathetic tears welling up in my eyes or breaking an expensive object nearby. It was a shock to everyone, except perhaps Harry, when the realization of Malfoy's betrayal hit us. For some bizarre reason, I felt an especially deep tug in my heart at the news. Perhaps it touched me to see such a formerly stoic, cold being have to suffer through such emotional stress. Perhaps I had grown attached to our peculiar encounters.

I had done quite a number of essays that year, and each time, I waited to hear the usual patronizing salutation, the typical interruption that came with no regard for my work; none occurred, and I felt a pang of disappointment each time.

It was June 3rd when the day finally came. I was in the library, working (lo and behold) on another essay. I hadn't written anything substantial down but part of my heading, which read:

_Hemone Gangr_

_May 3—_

I had been _quite_ distracted that day. It had to do with the previous day. Harry, Ron, and I had been talking, and they boys had been arguing about the dark tattoos or whatnot, when abruptly, the conversation had veered towards the topic of Eileen Prince.

_Prince_. The name left an awful taste on my tongue. The spells, the effects, the twisted mind of the author; they all held an ominous and ill-boding quality. It didn't comfort me in the slightest that Harry had nearly killed Draco Malfoy with one of the spells from the book.

But that deviates from my point. I was sitting at the usual table I had tacitly asserted to be mine since first year, completely out of focus, when suddenly, I felt a presence beside me. He had slipped in so soundlessly that I had almost neglected seeing him.

"Hello," came the quiet greeting.

I turned slowly to him and blinked three times to make sure he was who I thought he was. His usually well-kept sheen blond hair was now stringy and lifeless. The already pale colour of his skin was an even more sickly pallid shade. His alabaster eyes had lost their normal flash of ire and haughtiness and instead held a vacant, resigned look akin to my deceased Grandfather Jack's. He looked so frail and lean that I wondered if he had eaten at all within the past month. My concern for his health and current state shoved the suspicions Harry and Ron had implemented into me back to the furthest corner of my mind, and I asked him what was wrong.

He only shook his head and stared down at his hands. Finally, he caught my gaze and I strained my ears to hear his barely audible whisper. "I'm sorry for what will happen."

Bewildered, I opened my mouth to respond, but he shook his head once more. _That_ brought my indignation up a notch. I absolutely detest it when people cut me off before they know what I'm going to say, and I voiced these thoughts to him.

The corner of his mouth quirked up the very slightest bit, giving a ghost of a smile. This alarmed me even more.

"Malfoy…"

"Granger…" he countered in a sarcastic manner, but his mocking tone had lost its usual biting edge.

"I'm serious. I know we haven't been the best of friends…" He scoffed at this, and I shot him a cross look. "_But_, if there's anything you need to talk about, I'm here to listen."

"Thanks for the offer, but I don't know if I could handle any of your psychological bullshit right now, Granger."

My eyes flickered angrily, and I felt the standard blossom of heat in my cheeks that always appeared when I got worked up about something. In this case, it was Malfoy. Why was it always Malfoy?

"Malfoy," I interjected irritably, "I know you're going through some trouble right now, but you have _no right_ to act so disrespectful, especially when I'm trying to help you."

He met my heated gaze. "I don't want your help."

He always knew how to infuriate me further, didn't he? "Then why the bloody hell did you walk in here looking like a mess? Something like that expects help, doesn't it?"

Shrugging dispassionately, he turned to look at a nearby bookcase. "Perhaps I felt that we needed to give our yearly tradition one last go."

I snorted. "Yearly tradition? What do we accomplish out of these? I don't seem to get anything except a spoiled essay, it appears."

He raised an eyebrow. "Do you, now? How odd. What a coincidence it is that whenever I show up, your essays seem to digress from their intended topic."

"Coincidence, indeed. Tell me, Malfoy, why do you come here, every year? Do you get some kind of satisfaction out of tormenting me even more?"

He looked thoughtfully at the stack of books I had laid on the table. "I do. It seems that you're the only other person in this joke of a school that's up to par for verbal sparring."

I stared at him. "As flattered as I am that you think so highly of my intellect, I fail to see what purpose that holds. Go argue with yourself in the mirror; it should give the same effect."

"Fine, Granger. You want a purpose? Give me a purpose to be here."

I pondered this for a few seconds. "Will you answer something for me?"

"Depends on the question," he said wryly.

"Are you behind whatever's been happening this year?"

His eyes darkened, and he stayed silent for a few moments. "There are some things that should be left unsaid," he finally answered. "Ignorance is bliss, isn't it?"

"Not if it's hurting others," I retorted, dropping my quill, my essay completely forgotten.

"You don't know anything, Granger."

"And here you were just seconds ago praising my aptitude. I'm not thick like those goons you call your friends, Malfoy. I know you're doing something, though I don't know what. Whatever it is, you've got to stop; working for Voldemort isn't going end well. You're nothing more than a disposable pawn in his warped game for utter domination."

He visibly flinched at the name. "Don't say his name. He punishes those who speak it brazenly."

"Stop being a coward." I grasped his arm and stared at him steadily. He looked down at his left arm in shock, and I suddenly felt a tingle, the realization dawning on me that I could potentially be holding an arm marked with the Dark Mark.

His eyes shot up to mine, and he wrenched his arm away from my grip. "You don't know _anything_," he hissed angrily. "Don't call me a coward when you don't know the slightest bit about what you're talking about. You may know everything about Charms, about Transfiguration, and about Potions, but you've no idea of what goes on in the real world, do you? In the real world, it's life or death. Once you pick a side, you're stuck there, no matter the cost. Loyalty is your lifeline; the second you stand with a wavering decision, you'll be Avada'd faster than you can blink. Wake up and smell the fucking roses, Granger, and you'll see that they have thorns rimmed all down the stem. This is reality, not another one of your fantasies where everything is perfect and things turn out the way they're supposed to."

For once in my life, I was struck absolutely speechless.

He continued harshly, "I've been given a task, and I have to complete it. Go ahead and tell Potter. It won't make any difference. It's no longer my life on the line, and I have to think about the one person in my life who's ever had an inkling of care for me." His eyes had lost their fire and had once again taken on an anxious, fearful look. "Please, Hermione. I just need to tell you that I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything I ever did. I was stupid, foolish, and ignorant to the world. I never thought my life would spiral so much out of control as it did, and now I'm paying for my mistakes. I'm sorry."

He repeated the mantra over and over again, and it reverberated indistinctly in my ears until I finally snapped out of my stupor. My hand rose and whipped right across his cheek, cutting him off. He froze and turned back to me slowly, taken aback.

"Don't you _dare_," I ground out through clenched teeth, "assume I don't know what reality is like. If you hadn't noticed, I've been through more shit than you could ever imagine the past five years of my life. I've battled a giant troll, led my best friend to near death innumerable times, been petrified trying to save the school, gone back in time to save an innocent man at the risk of unraveling the very fabric of time, helped Harry attempt to win the most dangerous game on this Earth, fought against full-fledged adult Death Eaters, including your own _father_, and seen my best friend's godfather die, Malfoy. I saw him _die_. I can see the damned Thestrals that pull the carriages from the train to Hogwarts."

It dimly occurred to me that if I didn't lower my voice soon, Madam Pince would show up and kick us out.

"And you think I can't?" He stared at me through dull eyes. "Do you know how many people I've seen tortured and killed this past summer?"

"I'm not going to play this sick game of who's-seen-more-people-die with you, Malfoy. It's bad enough that we're only sixteen and caught in this perverse war without sharing horror stories."

"Then you should understand me. In this fucked up world, there's only been one person who's been there for me this entire time, Granger, and the Dark Lord is threatening to kill her if I don't comply. My mother has already atoned for my father's sins, and I hate it. She makes it seem so terminal, that she doesn't have enough faith in me."

I stared at him in disbelief. "You're doing this because you think your dearest Mummy _doesn't have enough faith in you_?"

His eyes went icy, and his tone plunged down a few degrees as well. "My mother," he said coolly, "is about to die, and you think I'm doing this to prove something to her?"

I instantly regretted my words. "Malfoy—"

"If there's one thing that will come out of this meeting, Granger," he interposed, "it's my vow that I will do whatever it takes for my mother to stay alive and die old, safe, and happy, whether or not I will be with her. She's done nothing wrong but marry into the right family at the wrong time, and I'm not about to let her die because of me or my father."

A tense silence engulfed the air, and my gaze reverted back to the parchment. I wasn't sure what to say, and I was a bit afraid that if I said the wrong thing, he would blow up on me. It would do no good for destruction of private property to be placed on his list of life-long misdeeds; that is, unless he'd already committed that crime.

The harsh reality bit me as I distinctly became aware that a fellow student, a fellow student I _knew_, was very much a Death Eater and would soon be embarking on missions to murder innocent people. The simple fact that Malfoy could actually follow through on his threats to harm Harry and Ron made my blood run cold.

"Look, Granger," he said in a brusque, but dejected manner, "I didn't come here asking for a didactic therapist. There's nothing you can do to help me, all right?"

"That's what you may think, Malfoy." I sighed wearily. "But you and I, we're a lot more alike than we'd like to think. We operate on the same mindset. I can't change your decision, but I can tell you that the proverbial door's always open. The more people we have to help us, the faster this will go down."

He looked at me seriously. "If that time ever comes, I hope you hold your end of the deal."

Stillness permeated the air once more, and I stared at a book propped open, trying to remember what the essay I was writing was supposed to be about. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him slowly rise from his seat.

"Your name's misspelled and it's June," he pointed out quietly. He turned swiftly and slipped out of the library.

When my eyes had traced back to my parchment, I saw that instead of the usual antagonizing words that were written in my typical scrawl after each "meeting", an extremely foreboding message stared solemnly right back up to me in neat, fine handwriting.

_**I'm very regretful about the events that will soon come to place. Find it in your heart to forgive me.**_

As an added bonus, my name and heading had been corrected. I frowned and picked up the paper, reading the words over and over again. This couldn't be good…

It wasn't. The next day, all hell broke loose. Harry had rushed to us, thrust the Felix Felicis at our faces, and quickly told us what to expect that night. Death Eaters streamed through the halls of Hogwarts, attacking bewildered students and frantic professors. The lot of us followed Snape as he rushed to the Astronomy Tower, but were hindered by the masses of Death Eaters.

In the middle of throwing a hex, I suddenly felt someone pull me into an alcove. I whipped my arm around to toss a jinx at my attacker, but he caught my wrist before I could. I heard a soft murmuring of, "Remember what I wrote, Granger," and then he was gone.

I stared numbly at the empty space that he had stood, the indistinct awareness that _he_ had been the one who had let the Death Eaters in, and _he_ had been the one who had caused this pandemonium slowly dawning on me. And there I was, just yesterday, pleading with him to turn his back on all those Death Eaters…

Dumbledore's funeral came three days later. In the middle of the ceremony, I realized that Malfoy had confirmed that it was, indeed, him who had tampered with my essays.

xXx

* * *

And that's Part Two, summarizing the Fifth and Sixth Years.

Thanks for the reviews last time, guys. Sorry about the slow update. I was away on vacation.

Once again, Read&&Review!

**_lazer-angel_**


	3. Seventh Year

Disclaimer: I only own the plot, characters belong to J.K. Rowling

* * *

Essays (Part Three)

xXx

To say that my last year at Hogwarts was but a little uncomfortable is like saying the blast-ended skrewt I encountered in Fourth Year was friendly.

A recap might be useful. It was the night of the summer solstice, before our seventh year. We had all been quarrelling at the kitchen table of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place…

x

"Absolutely not. Those three are not to be allowed out of the house," Moody barked for the third time.

Harry stood and placed his hands firmly on the table, retorting angrily, "And why not?"

"You might think that you can do it all, Potter, but you're still a kid."

"I'm almost seventeen, almost an adult," Harry argued. "Stop treating me like a kid, because no kid's ever gone through the stuff I have."

"Harry—" Lupin interjected, trying to reason with him, but was cut off by Moody's increasing snarls.

"You've gotten lucky each time, but when do you think that luck's going to run out? I'll not have you die by a stray hex or falling right into a Death Eater's lap, boy."

The younger boy's lips were pulled into a grim line. "Well, they can't kill me, remember? The prophecy says that one of us has got to kill the other, doesn't it? So I'll be safe from the Death Eaters."

Moody stood to his full height and glared dangerously at Harry. "Oh? But you don't think they'll resort to dark curses to immobilize you so that they can torture you until they bring you to You-Know-Who, who in turn, will get his chance to tear your intestines apart and feast on them for lunch?"

Ron and I looked at each other and grimaced at the graphic description.

"C'mon, Harry," Tonks put in, "We need you too much to lose you. Kids like you guys have no place in a war like this. You'd be the first to get targeted and the easiest to kill."

Harry continued to bite back, completely unfazed.

"But at least I stand a chance! I'm not a helpless, clueless brat who's going to fall straight into the hands of Volde—"

"DON'T," Moody roared, cutting Harry off, "SAY HIS NAME, BOY."

"_Why_ not?" Harry lashed back. "I'm not afraid of that coward, and I'm sure as hell not afraid to use his name."

"This just goes to prove how insolent you are," the elder Auror said furiously. "You just don't understand the unmentionable, do you? They've placed a taboo on his name so that they can track us here if we use his name. It's hard enough getting in and out of this dump without attracting attention that we don't need the burden of hundreds of Death Eaters gathering outside our door on our plate."

"Oh? But why should it matter, as no one but us know the location of this decrepit—"

_Knock, knock, knock._

We all froze, and Moody's eye immediately swung to the door.

Harry, momentarily stunned, stammered out, "I-I didn't say his name yet."

"D'ya really think Death Eaters would bother knocking?" Mood growled. "It's that Malfoy kid."

Instantaneously, a wand appeared in each person's hand, pointed straight at the door.

"He's got nothin' with him, not even his wand. Seems vulnerable enough, but I don't trust this kid as far as I can see, and that's plenty far. If he doesn't explain himself within the first thirty seconds, stun him."

From my peripheral view, I could see Ron's eyes light up at the prospect, and I bit back a reprove.

With a toss of the wrist, the door flew open, and there stood Malfoy, drenched to his skin from the pouring thunderstorm outside. After a moment, he opened his mouth to speak.

"I—", he began uncertainly. He looked at me with wide, anxious eyes, and I understood. After giving him a slight reassuring nod, he continued. "I—I know some things that may be useful."

Silence.

"Malfoy—Draco," Lupin said slowly, breaking the apprehensive hush that had followed his declaration, "You have to understand that even in good intentions, we have license to neither trust nor believe you."

"Let him in." Shocked, we all turned to face the portrait hanging on the east wall. An extra portrait of Dumbledore had been commissioned to hang in Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, but he spent most of his time in his Hogwarts portrait, overseeing the school. It was a rare surprise to have him visit the portrait here.

"I'm sorry, what?" Professor McGonagall asked, the disbelief written across her face.

"Let him in and allow him to tell you his story before you judge him." Dumbledore peered at Malfoy over him half-moon glasses. "If I'm not mistaken, this is an indication that Severus has finally passed on, is it not?"

Dazedly, our gazes circled back to Malfoy, who was still standing on the porch, raindrops trickling from his eyelashes every time he blinked. Soundlessly, he nodded.

"Then let him in," Dumbledore repeated. It was Mrs. Weasley who made the first move, rushing into the kitchen and back out with a large, feathery towel.

"Come in, dear, and have a seat."

This snapped everyone out of the strange stupor, and the household was once more bustling with activity. Once we had gotten Malfoy dried off and everyone else seated, he began to recount his tale.

"He found us out. Professor Snape may have been an accomplished Occlumens, but I wasn't. I was still shaken up by the events of that night, and the Dark Lord threw me off. I couldn't bring my defenses up fast enough, and he attacked my mind. There had been a few things that Snape had let slip in our conversations, and the Dark Lord caught them. The next fifteen days were incessant torture for me and Professor Snape. Snape planned out an escape for me and told me to come to this place, as he was a secret-keeper to the house."

Ah, so that was how he had found his way here.

"Snape knew that he wouldn't make it out alive, so he sacrificed himself as a means of a getaway for me. I don't know how much I can offer, but I was well-informed enough to have a bounty placed on my head." Nervously, he glanced in the direction of the door.

"Did anyone track you?" Moody asked sharply.

Malfoy shook his head. "Snape told me to break my wand the minute I Apparated, so any magic I'd done in the past five minutes would have been erased and untraceable."

And _that_ explained the lack of a wand.

The rest of the night followed in the same manner, with harsh inquisition, a couple of drops of Veritaserum every now and then, and some memories viewed in an old Pensieve. It was nearing dawn by the time we had finished. The Weasley children had already fallen asleep, sprawled across the couch, and Lupin looked even wearier than usual for a werewolf. Even Moody's growls had lost their gruffness.

Malfoy took Sirius's old bedroom at the unexpected suggestion from Harry. The only person who disagreed was Mrs. Weasley, who claimed she had not yet cleaned out Sirius's room and that he was going to die from inhaling an inordinate amount of dust there.

He caught me on the way up and stopped me. "Thanks," he said quietly.

"For what?"

"For keeping your word."

"About?"

"The door always being open. Granted, the door wasn't actually open, but Moody helped with that bit with his wand." He gave me a wry smile.

I concealed my surprise at his cordial, almost sociable manner. "Moody's a generally helpful person once you get to know him." I cocked my head and looked at him appraisingly. "So are you going to stick with us?"

He gazed at me seriously. "I can promise you that I'll do whatever it takes to get to the end."

"That's a vague answer for someone who claims he wants our trust."

"It's an honest answer."

"Malfoy."

"Granger."

"I'm serious."

"As am I."

I frowned at him. "You have to know the weight you bear on your shoulders now. If you defect back, or if you're being an extremely good liar to us, the world will only result in mass chaos and despair. You-Know-Who doesn't have a logical or stable enough mind to even contemplate the consequences of world dominance."

"I know what I'm doing, Granger. Have a little faith." With that, he turned and continued up the stairs, leaving me to remain highly suspicious and a bit troubled at his words.

x

Over the course of the summer, the members of the Order had gradually accepted Malfoy on civil, even friendly terms. Malfoy and I never did discuss our previous engagements, but they always came to mind whenever we bumped into each other and occupied ourselves with a conversation. I discovered that he was an invigorating, witty, and cynical conversationalist, and that it was more than likely Malfoy who kept me sane in the long, tedious hours spent inside the cramped, dull house.

Perhaps it was the very notion that I was mildly close with Malfoy that made the news so severe. Then again, the news didn't seem to strike the others' fancy either.

X

The door swung open and slammed along the wall, awakening Walburga Black and inciting her usual mantra of "FILTHY BLOOD TRAITORS" and "LEWD MUDBLOODS" soiling the already grimy carpets of her ancestral home. After loudly cursing and ripping the curtains across the face of the portrait, Moody sauntered into the kitchen, where the remaining members of the Order quickly followed.

"Uncooperative, unqualified, untrained, kid…"

"What happened?" Harry's eyes danced restlessly behind his spectacles

Moody's gaze shifted to Shacklebolt's, and Kingsley subtly shook his head. "Not now, kid. Now get." He shoo'ed us unceremoniously out of the kitchen and charmed the door shut with a resounding _thump_.

The three of us stared at each other, befuddled, until Ron grinned and pulled an Extendable Ear out of his pocket.

"I knew it was a good idea to swipe one of these." Before he could say anything else, I snatched the ear from his hand and placed it on the door, motioning for the boys, who were arguing the unfairness of the situation, to be quiet.

"…Malfoy kid…went in without…disobeyed…wouldn't wait…too late…"

"…trust him?...leak information…big disaster…"

"…deceive?…after everything we've…Death Eater…"

I pulled back, stunned. Ron and Harry dove for the Extendable Ear, fighting over the earpiece, while I backed away. Though I couldn't say I was completely shocked, I sure hadn't expected _that_. After the month we'd spent with Malfoy, I thought he had changed. I had seen a side of him never before exposed to the world, and I had _liked_ that side. I guess some things were too good to be true…

X

The final confrontation happened, ironically, on Harry's birthday. The night before, we had found and destroyed the fifth horcrux, Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem. Harry had been in a hurry to discover the sixth and seventh horcruxes, one of which he believed to be Voldemort, himself. In hopes to accidentally stumble across the seventh horcrux, we ventured to Godric's Hollow on the eve of his birthday alone.

What a ridiculously stupid thing to do.

The second we set foot upon Harry's former residence, I felt a tingle run up my spine, and suddenly, we were surrounded by nameless figures clad in long, flowing black cloaks. Death Eaters, of course.

I tried to Apparate out, but an insistent tug of magic prevented me from doing so, and from the alarmed looks on Ron's and Harry's faces, they had just realized the same. We were trapped. I slipped my hand inside my cloak and pressed my thumb against a lone Galleon that resided in my pocket, which alerted all the other members of the Order that we were at serious risk of death, but I knew that by the time the others arrived, we would all be dead or kidnapped.

"Well, well, if it isn't our favorite triplet." A cold voice pierced the air, and I instantly recognized it as the Lucius Malfoy's. This fact served to plummet my already receding hope of getting out alive.

"Fuck you, Malfoy," Harry snarled.

"Manners, boy, or must I teach you some?"

"Fuck you, _Mister_ Malfoy."

Malfoy's eyes glistened with fire. "_Crucio_."

Ron's hand clenched mine to keep me from taking out my wand and cursing Lucius Malfoy to the end of his wit. I shut my eyes tightly and attempted to drown out the screams of agony being resonating from Harry's throat. I knew if I opened my eyes, I would only lose it all, and these circumstances didn't exactly provide the most appropriate place for a mental breakdown.

"Malfoy."

The chilling, unfamiliar tone rang through the air, and my eyes sprung open. I had never met nor heard his voice before in my life, but with the amount of malice laced in his quiet declaration, I knew it could only be one person. Immediately the screaming stopped as Lucius abruptly cut off the spell and knelt down before a form dressed in a particularly darker shade of black than the rest, if that was even possible.

"My Lord, I apologize."

I wanted to scoff at the irony of Lucius Malfoy letting his precious, pricey cloak touch the very dirt upon where he mocked my blood and lineage from. Then again, the goal of the situation was getting out alive, not provoking the others into bestowing upon me an early death.

"He was mine. You were not to touch him."

A fearful silence settled in the air. I could hear the almost-hidden tremor in Malfoy's voice as he replied, "F-forgive me, my Lord. I only meant to break him in for you."

"You forget, Malfoy; Forgiveness is a weakness. _Crucio_." I strained my ears to hear Voldemort's next words, for he continued to speak in the same, soft, dangerous tone even as Lucius continued to shriek in pain. "Break him in? Is he some toy to be played with? Did you not think of the consequences if you had broken him in too far? He is to be clean and freshly presented to me. You had no right to interfere with what is mine."

With a flick of his wrist, he ended the curse, and Lucius's cries became faint moans. "Now, Potter. This is the last time we shall meet; I swear it by my soul." He paused and chuckled, an eerie, unpleasant sound coming from the unstable adversary. "Or at least, I swear by one of my souls."

Harry wiped the trickling blood from his lower lip. "Yeah, because I'll never have to think about your pathetic existence after I kick your cold, dead body over. And you know what? This time, it'll be for good." He reached into his robes, pulled out Ravenclaw's old, gleaming diamond diadem, and threw it at Voldemort's feet. His eyes widened in momentary shock, but the astonishment was quickly replaced with glittering anger.

"You've not found the last two, have you? Even your little Mudblood friend won't be able to help you figure those out. I, however, have my own informant, who knows where you'll be searching for them. I'm quite fortunate to have him, as he gave me the precise location you'd be tonight. I believe I shall reward him with the pleasure of killing your pitiable companions while you watch." His lip curled into a terrible sneer. "Malfoy."

The blond on the ground struggled to speak. "Y-yes, my Lord?"

Voldemort's eyes flashed disdainfully at the body on the ground. "Not you, you fool. Your son."

I heard Ron's painful grunt as I dug my fingernails deeper into his palm. No. Not him.

"Draco Malfoy."

No.

_No_.

Silence.

"Looking for me?" From the looming, dark skies, a figure on a broomstick descended, floating lazily above our heads. All of a sudden, about fifty jets of red and blue shot out from behind us. I was about to react with my own set of jinxes when I saw that all the hexes and spells had hit the Death Eaters, who crumpled to the ground. Ah, so the Order had finally decided to arrive and save our arses. The remaining standing Death Eaters had made quick work of their wands and threw curses in retaliation. From the corner of my eye, I saw Harry look up at Draco with a deep vengeance, holding his wand up to the blond, more than likely to do something worse than shoot a rainbow from the tip of his wand.

"Harry, no!" I leapt on Harry and caused him to fall over, sending an angry purple stream of light in the direction of a Death Eater, who howled in pain as he was knocked off his feet and sent flying a good fifteen yards into the distance.

"What're you doing, Hermione?" Harry hissed at me furiously.

I ducked as another spell came soaring our way. "Don't hit him. He's not our enemy."

"Yeah, but he's not our ally either, is he?"

He made to get up, but I held him down again as another blue streak passed over our heads. "Just don't hurt him. At least not until we know for sure who he's fighting for." At Harry's uncertain look, I added, "Please?"

He was tensed for a moment. "Fine." After I released him and got back up, I realized that the Order had finally revealed itself from the shadows and that the battle was beginning to get vicious. I thought I saw a mop of red hair somewhere between a pair of legs, but it was soon out of my view, and I couldn't get a better look.

As the fight continued, I remembered there came a point when Draco appeared out of nowhere with Nagini floating in a transparent sphere. The jet fires stopped momentarily as everyone stared upwards. Crimson ooze began to collect at the bottom of the sphere and the snake started to writhe, causing red droplets to splatter throughout the clear globe. A sharp cry of distress broke through, and all eyes were riveted on Voldemort, who had fallen to his knees, clutching his chest.

"How does it feel, Riddle, to die? It's a pain much worse than ripping your soul in half, isn't it? It's all about sacrifice." His grey eyes flickered towards Harry but returned to the thrashing snake as the apparent sixth horcrux finally met its death.

Then, a tremendous weight of energy flew emanated from Voldemort, knocking everyone down. With a murderous glint in his eye, he strode through the field in the direction of the fallen Draco Malfoy.

"You're but a fool, like your father."

"I am _not_," Malfoy spat, "my father." He threw a curse at Voldemort, but it was quickly deflected onto nearby ground, leaving the grass burnt and charred.

"It matters not. He shall meet the same end as you, for being an incompetent imbecile."

Malfoy spat blood dripping from his swollen lip to the side. "Then you should be destined for the same fate, seeing as you and I are so alike."

"_Avada Kedavra._"

"No!" The word that I thought that had been torn from my throat came from Harry, who dove in front of Malfoy at the last second, taking the impact of the curse.

For a moment, there was silence. Then, an eruption of cheers and moans. I scrambled to my feet and fell besides Harry, shaking his shoulders.

No…

My eyes became blurred as I shook his cold, lifeless form harder; then I felt arms wrap around mine.

"Let go."

I obeyed, though I should've been pushing away. I felt those arms leading me away, and through my hazy vision, I could see a mob of black approach Harry.

What happened next was pretty much all a blur to me. One second, Harry was being heaved into the air and tossed around like some sort of sick trophy. The next, he had disappeared. The crowd of victorious Death Eaters had instantly stopped and whirled around, confused and upset. Then, a single clear shout of "_Avada Kedavra_!" cut through the air.

It met its mark.

Shock, bewilderment, and fury were all imprinted on his face as Voldemort collapsed. After a moment of shock, a chorus of stunning spells rang out from those who were astonished but had the quick wit to prevent the Death Eaters from escaping. Harry emerged from where he had been standing in the darkness, fully corporeal and alive.

He told us later that Voldemort had unknowingly made an eighth horcrux when he had tried to kill one-year-old Harry, as a piece of Voldemort's soul had latched onto Harry's after the Killing Curse had rebounded off of Harry, and that by sacrificing himself, he had earned himself a chance to come back to life, this time without Voldemort's soul with him. Then, of course, the horcrux Voldemort had placed within himself had been destroyed.

When we asked him how he knew all of this, he spewed some gibberish about meeting Dumbledore at King's Cross. We all concluded he had probably suffered some brain injury when he had been "struck dead." Malfoy, on the other hand, had nodded along almost knowingly.

Malfoy. That traitorous, manipulative bastard. After everything had been cleared up and the hype had died down, Malfoy found himself to be nonexistent to me. Why? Actually, I had no valid reason, but I wasn't about to reason with myself about that. No, I told myself that he had deceived us, even if it had been for the better. I had opened the door for him (well, no, actually Moody did, but that's beside the point), taken him in (again, Molly's doing, but you get the point), and befriended him (that I did. Kind of.) And what did he do? Run off to the Death Eaters without telling any of us and took on his own plan.

In truth, the Death Eaters had been lodging in a secret part of Hogwarts, and Draco had been surreptitiously sneaking away from the Death Eaters to converse with Dumbledore's portrait, which had enlightened him on everything and helped him plan the final attack.

That still didn't change the fact that Malfoy had completely disregarded the…_thing_ we had. Whatever it was, he took the trust we had given him, that _I_ had given him, and used it to his own will and way. Granted, it had turned out well in the end, but that didn't change the fact that it could have all gone wrong because he wouldn't tell anyone anything.

Honestly, it was because I felt that I had been taken for granted and had ended up looking and feeling like a complete idiot for thinking that there was a semblance of _something_ between us. After all, I was still a regular teenage girl with regular teenage hormones.

It seemed that everyone eventually conceded and forgave him, and civility returned to things, bordering on affability with the close members of the Order. Everyone except me, that is. Assuming that I had been emotionally scorned, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, no? I refused to talk to him and minimized eye contact all summer. I thought when Hogwarts came around, I'd finally be able to avoid him with more ease because I was Head Girl. Of course, fate likes to be screwy and who else but Malfoy ended up with Head Boy?

I would've argued the decision, but Malfoy had been given the position more out of regard to his safety than for his qualifications. Hogwarts had kept to the tradition of the four houses, obviously not learning the lesson that Slytherin may churn out suspicious characters, and if Malfoy had lived in the Slytherin dorm, his wellbeing would be in higher risk considering children of convicted Death Eaters would still be attending the school.

That's beside the point. The point was, I was stuck with this frustrating piece of work that would not leave me alone. I tried my hardest to disregard him, and I found myself avoiding the library at all costs. Each time I had an essay assigned, I holed up in my dorm, rushing to finish it so there would be no chance for any…_incidents_ to happen. The enjoyment I used to get out of gaining new knowledge from research was lost in the resentment of my memories. It was cruel, almost, as every essay and every quill sparked a recollection of our late night meetings. Yes, there was no doubt about it. I absolutely and completely abhorred essays.

And yet he wouldn't let up. I repudiated all attempts of conversation, even when he sent me flowers, chocolates, and a discomforting and _very_ public apology for misusing my trust during dinner. It might seem cruel to deny forgiveness to such pathetic groveling, but I wasn't one to follow guidelines just because everyone expected me to.

Ultimately, we reached the climax of the increasing tension between us.

I was in the private common room in the Heads' dorm working on an essay for my muggle studies on religion. More specifically, the topic of interest was how forgiveness was perceived in different faiths. Ironic, no?

The entrance swung open and the other Head stepped in. I quickly gathered my belongings to move my studying into my room. Before I could take a step towards my dorm, though, a hand reached out and caught my arm, causing my parchment, books, and quill to fall.

"You seem awfully rushed," he remarked. "In a hurry to do something?"

"Getting away from you," I quipped.

"Something _important_?"

"Getting away from you."

He sighed. "Can't we talk, Granger?"

"I have an essay to write, Malfoy. Chatting with an ex-Death Eater is not one of the priorities in my life at the moment, thanks."

"Then can you at least answer a few questions for me? Write your essay, do whatever, but just help me out."

I gazed longingly at the privacy of my dorm where my cowardice beckoned to me, but one glance at Malfoy's pitiable pleading look had me heaving a great sigh, flopping back down on the couch, and picking up my effects from the ground. Retrieving my parchment, I dipped my quill and began to write.

_Forgiveness…_

No. It was too clichéd to start out that way.

_All over the world, there was one virtue that rested among…_

"Okay, Granger, I've apologized six million times. _At least_. What's stopping you from talking to me?"

"I'm talking to you right now. What more do you want?"

No, that was still a terrible introduction sentence.

_Muggle, wizard, witch, or inhuman being; it mattered not what or who you were, as long as…_

No, no…

"Why are you like this? We could actually hold a conversation before this. I still remember because I enjoyed them. What's happened that's changed since then?"

Was he serious? "You mean besides your betrayal? Your little scheme that you told no one of? Many people could've died because of the way you handled that if we hadn't been so lucky!"

He shook his head. "Not that. Everyone else has let that go. You're not upset over that."

"I am."

"You are not."

"I am."

"You are not."

"I _am_."

He gave an exasperated sigh and rolled his eyes. "For Merlin's sake, Granger, will you just tell me what your goddamned problem is?"

"Look, Malfoy, I really don't want to talk about this. Can't you just leave me alone?" I returned to my essay once more—my now modified essay.

_**Forgiveness**__**is a virtue of only the bravest witches and wizards.**_

I glared at him.

He answered with a raised, expectant eyebrow.

I narrowed my eyes further.

He held up his hands up in mock surrender. "Fine, if what you want is for me to leave you alone—"

"Oh, you catch on quick, don't you?"

"—humor me first. Just answer the question."

"Oh holy hell. I think being an evil Death Eater takes its toll on you. Having hearing issues of late?" I rejoined, annoyed. "Go. Away."

He gave me a long look. "You know what? Forget it, Granger. You're never going to change." He straightened up and made to leave.

Whoa, whoa, whoa. _What_?

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said forget it, Granger. Just, whatever." He gave me a dismissive wave and turned around. Oh _no_ he didn't. You can insult me all you want, but you do _not_ act as if you're better than me.

"Fine." I hoped that the pseudo calmness in my voice concealed the mounting anger I was feeling. "You want to know what my problem is? It's you. It's you and the pain and humiliation and frustration and worry and everything you've ever done to me." I stood up and moved away from the table to his side. "I hate you, Malfoy. I hate you so much you couldn't even fathom how much I hate you, so why don't you just take it at face value and leave me the hell alone?"

He looked a bit surprised at my outburst. "I—"

"And while we're at it, you can take back your flowers, chocolates and other crap that's been filling up my room, because I've run out of places to stuff them, and they don't bloody burn when I set fire to—"

I was rudely interrupted when he pressed his lips to mine.

After he broke the kiss, I stared back at him, bewildered. "What was that?"

"Something to shut you up with."

"Oh, you impudent little—"

Whatever thought I had been ready to voice quickly disappeared when he employed his tactic to shush me once more. _Dang_, he's a good kisser.

I pushed him away. "Will you stop?"

"Just as long as you stop pushing me away and give me a chance."

"Fine." Wait, what? "No, of course not!"

Shoot. I quickly diverted my eyes to the desk in an attempt to regain my logic and common sense, but not before I caught a lilting smirk tracing his lips. Stupid git with his stupid designer robes and stupid Italian shoes with that stupid blond hair and stupid grey eyes and stupid good looks.

"So Hogsmeade this Saturday?"

Stupid _charm_. I sighed. It was okay to give in every once in awhile, right?

"One condition."

"What?"

"You owe me seven rolls of parchment. One for every year you ruined my essay."

His response was a laugh and another kiss.

Maybe essays weren't so bad after all.

* * *

And that's Part Three, summarizing the Seventh Year!

Whew. So sorry about that wait again, and sorry for the weak ending. The original ending was written on plane at 3:30 in the morning. So I kept revising it and re-revising it until I ended with something manageable, though not too agreeable, but trust me, it was a lot better than the first ending. And the second. And the third.

BUT. That's the longest story I've written. So, make me happy and...

Read&&Review!

**_lazer-angel_**


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